Redemption
by le-ekaterina
Summary: Ten years after the defeat of J. Rutherford Pierce, a Cahill outcast sets out to redeem himself. The catch? He's doing it by proving his lethality against the Cahills. Double catch? He's using the supernatural to do it. But he's not the only one with paranormal powers. Completely ignores anything that happens in Doublecross. OCs and canon characters.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hi there! Just letting you know that this is my first fanfic on this site. I've been writing it for ages - I posted it on the MB, but it hasn't been well-received (I mean, people liked the first bit, then ditched it). So I decided, to hell with it, post it here! **

**Also, please note that this will be a pretty long story, if it goes according to plan. But the chapters are kinda short(ish), so hopefully, it balances out. And, as often happens with longer stories, the setting up takes a little while, and can be a little tedious, before any action takes place. So please bear with me.**

**Oh, and I should probably do the disclaimer. None of the content of The 39 Clues series is mine. This is merely a fan fiction. The basic backbones of some of the OCs and plot points were given to me by the following MBers: ElbowBast1 (Nikki); SilverWolf255 (Essy); ChocolateBlue102; FieryAngel19; PizzaPizza263 (Alissa); AngryNebula1 (Carson); and AnalyzingAcrobatics725 (Emmanuel). I took those ideas (which were all volunteered for the purpose of writing this story) and expanded on them. Thanks, guys!**

**One more thing: I'll wait until I get a review or two before posting the next chapter. I'd really love to know what you think of it! I'm more than happy with criticism, as long as it's constructive. Much appreciated. :)**

**Anyhow, I'll get out of the way of the story. Enjoy!**

**Prologue**

Even after fifty years of disuse, the cell was just as he remembered it.

The cell didn't contain much – just a bed, desk, basin and toilet – but it had been enough. Back in the 1960s, the advanced technology of today hadn't existed. People had been fine without it.

The man was sitting on the edge of the bed, his body turned towards the opposite wall of the cell, while his eyes remained settled on the corridor outside. Sunset Strip, as it had been called, was the corridor that lined the cells of D-Block, which contained the maximum security cells used for punishment. The man currently occupying a D-Block cell had spent his four-year sentence in and out of D-Block. It didn't seem to matter whether he followed the rules or not; Olin Blackwell, the warden in charge of the prison from 1961 to its closure in 1963, always had an excuse to send him into Solitary or Strip.

Convicted serial killers did not get off easy in Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary.

Then again, it hadn't helped that Blackwell had been a Cahill.

Olin "Gypsy" Blackwell had been as Cahill as a man could get. With a Lucian mother and Tomas father, Blackwell had inherited leadership, authority and excellent marksmanship. The other inmates had liked Gypsy. He was known as the least strict warden of Alcatraz – but that image was only held by those who weren't enemies of the world's most powerful family.

The Cahills. A bunch of power-hungry, self-centred, ignorant fools. They thought that money and positions of power would ensure security. They saw themselves as untouchable.

The ex-prisoner planned to prove them wrong.

Alcatraz had proved to be a good base. It had been designed as an inescapable fortress, but it was also good at keeping people out. Its position on an island more than two kilometres off the coast of San Francisco made it extremely difficult to access. Boats didn't dare attempt beating the unpredictable, wild currents surrounding the island, just to get to an "abandoned" prison.

The man in Alcatraz's D-Block had bought the island from the U.S. government, purely so he could use it as his base. He had spent years here. He knew the inner workings of the complex. It was perfect.

Just as a smile played on his lips, the man felt, rather than heard, the whispers in the walls. His smile widened. His friends had come out to play.

_A minute_, he thought._ Just another minute._

They seemed to understand, because the whispers withdrew.

The man knew that there were Cahill children who had begun to develop certain abilities. He could guess that these abilities had surfaced specifically to thwart his plans. But it wouldn't matter. The Cahills had shunned him. They had subjected him to hell in Alcatraz. They would pay. And maybe, when they were on their knees, begging for their lives, they would finally see how formidable he was.

He didn't intend to overpower the Cahills with physical prowess or shining intelligence. He would defeat them with an army.

The man knew that the Cahills had many agents, all over the world, trained in warfare. But he didn't need a trained army of live soldiers.

There had always been a rumour that Alcatraz Island was haunted. There were legends about the spirits in the walls. Most disproved these as myths. Now, it was no longer a rumour, or a legend, or a myth.

The ex-prisoner of Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary commandeered an army of the dead. And with it, he would get his revenge on the world's most powerful family.

The Cahills wouldn't stand a chance.


	2. Chapter One

**Hi! If you're reading this, I just wanna say thanks for checking this story out. I waited a little while to see if people were reading this before posting this chapter, and I have a reviewer now, so I figured I'd just go ahead and update. If you like this story, or if you don't, or if you kinda like it, but something's bugging you, please write a review! I really rely on feedback to tell me what's working and what isn't. **

**I know that OCs can bore some people, but the series characters will come in soon enough, I promise. This isn't just pure invention. :)**

**Chapter** **One**

Alissa Summers was having trouble concentrating.

It was the noise. The people in the grandstand, shouting and clapping and cheering. The kids on the sideline with drums, banging out a repetitive beat. The cheerleaders, chanting and cheering. The opposition, calling to each other, shouting tactics and encouragement. Her own teammates, doing the same. The squeaking of flat shoes on the court. The ball, bouncing repeatedly on the wooden floor. It was all a bit much.

Not to mention the voices in her head.

_Focus_, she ordered herself. _Intercept that. Now GO!_

The slight fifteen-year-old snagged the basketball in the air and took off, dribbling down the court, weaving in and out of the girls on the other team. Her size helped her: it was hard for girls who were almost six feet tall to catch a little opponent like Alissa. She wasn't even five-and-a-half feet tall. She couldn't help but smile as she dodged another player and took the shot. Cheers echoed around the gym as the ball went straight through the hoop.

She jogged back, slapping high-fives with her teammates. She tried to keep her attention on the players in blue now headed her way, even as the whispers in her mind grew in numbers. Shaking her head to clear it, she darted forward, made another intercept and dribbled the ball down the sideline. Her head was pounding, so hard that she almost lost her footing.

Alissa darted inside, ducking under an arm and taking the shot. The crowd groaned in disappointment as the ball hit the backboard and rebounded to an opposition player, who took it up the court. Alissa, however, remained where she was.

The shot had been almost identical to the one she'd sunk less than a minute previously. But she'd missed. And the voices were to blame. They swarmed over her, consuming her mind, clawing at her insides without mercy.

_Get OUT!_ she wanted to scream. _Leave me alone!_ But the voices were relentless, pounding on the inside of her skull with iron fists, refusing to let her out of their grasp. She actually doubled over, gasping for breath.

Someone screamed her name, bringing her back into focus. She straightened up as the voices faded, taking in the situation quickly.

Jess, Alissa's tallest teammate, had just snatched the ball from a blue-clad girl with dark hair. As Alissa looked up, Jess drew her arm back and hurled the ball down the court. "Take it home!" she screamed.

_Come on, Summers_, Alissa scolded herself. _You're not a half-Tomas for nothing. Pull it together._

Alissa jumped, deftly catching the ball with her left hand. She pivoted on her right foot to face the basket, bending her knees and springing off the balls of her feet as she attempted the shot.

_Nothing but net,_ she thought happily.

The buzzer sounded a second later, bringing an end to the match. The score stood 36-12. Alissa's team had won for the fourth week in a row. Her teammates were cheering and jumping around, celebrating their victory, but Alissa couldn't move. She felt sick. Her head still hurt.

_Come on_. She pulled herself away from the basket, towards the change rooms. The faster she got home, the better.

Reaching the change room, Alissa quickly traded her red-and-white basketball gear for black jeans, a white button-down, a black leather jacket and black boots. She was just retying her ponytail when the other girls came in, talking and laughing.

"Alissa!" Jess called across the room. "We're going for pizza, you coming?"

Jess was Alissa's most trusted friend. She was pretty, with long, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. Alissa loved her friend, but not even she could know about what was going on in Alissa's mind.

"Not feeling so good," she called back, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Think I pulled a muscle. Gonna head home."

"Oh," Jess said. She crossed over to Alissa. "Okay, well, see you tomorrow." They hugged, and Alissa left, holding her free shoulder like it hurt.

Alissa's dad was waiting for her in the car park. He was leaning against the car, smiling. "How'd you go?"

"We won," she answered. "Easily."

"That's my girl," he replied with a smile, nudging her with his elbow before getting in the car.

The drive was pretty quiet. The voices had returned, and Alissa was doing everything in her power to act like she was okay. She sat back, eyes closed. Hopefully, her dad would think she was just tired from the game.

In an effort to relax, Alissa hummed her favourite song quietly. She was half-Tomas, half-Janus. Her father said that sport was in her blood, but her mother insisted that sport shared her blood with music. They were both right. The music helped her relax.

Alissa's mother was just setting plates of spaghetti on the table when Alissa and her dad walked in. While her parents chattered, Alissa sat quietly at the table and ate. It only took a couple of minutes for her to realise that she wasn't hungry.

"What's up, hon?" her mother asked. "Don't you like it?"

"No, it's … it's fine," she said slowly. "I'm just not hungry."

"You look like you're about to pass out," her father remarked. "You feel okay?"

Alissa swallowed hard. "I'm hearing the voices again."

Her parents' reactions were exactly what she expected. Her father looked concerned, reaching out to touch her arm. Her mother looked annoyed. She rolled her eyes.

"We've talked about this," she said crossly. "Either let me take you to see someone or don't complain."

"I'm not insane," Alissa shot back. "I'm not going crazy, and I'm not sick. I don't need to see someone. I _can't_ see someone."

Her father started to say something, but Alissa suddenly cried out in pain. A sharp stab of pain had just run up her forearm. It felt like it was on fire.

"What's wrong?" her dad asked.

Alissa shook her head. Her parents wouldn't get her anywhere. They'd been the same since the start. The voices had been in her head for a month. For a month, her mother had been irritated and her father had been worried. If something was going to be done, she would have to do it herself.

She stood, brushing her father's hand away as she dumped her plate on the counter and stormed up to her room. Closing the door, she sat on the bed and pulled off her jacket. Then she rolled up her sleeve. What she saw made her gasp.

The burning in her left forearm had left a mark. An all-too-familiar mark.

Something serious was going on. And her parents couldn't help her.

Alissa knew that it was later in Attleboro, Massachusetts than it was in Mesquite, Texas. She didn't care. She reached for the phone, found the number and dialled.

"Amy Cahill? … Hi, it's Alissa Summers, Johanna's daughter … Well, I just thought you should know that the Cahill crest just burned itself into my forearm."

**Don't forget to review! And thanks for reading this far! xxx**


	3. Chapter Two

**Hey, readers! Not much of an AN this time, just an apology for waiting so long to continue. Be patient with the amount of OCs and setting up - like I said at the start, this will probably end up pretty long, so it won't seem like so much when we're a little further into the story. **

**Anyhow, enjoy!**

**Chapter Two**

"Nikki? Nikki, are you still with us?"

Nikki Saina jumped. She'd slumped into a stupor in the middle of Math. Too much on her mind, she supposed. Allowing her eyes to refocus on the board at the front of the room, she said, "Um ... could you repeat the question?"

"What is _x_?" Ms Lupan repeated.

"Twelve," Nikki answered. Her teacher nodded in assent, and continued on in the monotone she'd been using with her students for the last ten years. Nikki listened with one ear as her gaze flickered out the window.

Too much on her mind. That was the response she gave to anyone who asked her if she was okay these days. She seemed to be reassuring people of her well-being more and more lately. Her parents. Her teachers. Her friends.

But she was never well. She always felt sick. Her mother repeatedly told her that she had a fever. It was true - Nikki's skin always seemed to be burning. She just didn't know why.

Nikki fiddled with her ever-present green headband. It kept her curly, brown hair, which fell to her shoulders, out of her eyes. She looked out the window again. Except, this time, she didn't look out at the school grounds. She looked at her own reflection.

Dark circles under her soft, brown eyes. Her lips and brow turned down in a frown. This was the image she usually saw in the mirror. Today, her eyes flickered with something. Exhaustion? No. Determination, perhaps, to get through the day. But no, that was stupid. Eyes couldn't flicker with emotion. That only happened in the books.

She'd just decided that she was imagining the flickering when someone screamed.

Nikki whirled around in her chair. Stephanie, the girl with red hair and freckles who sat two seats away from her, was standing, her hands over her mouth, staring at Nikki's table. Nikki dropped her gaze to see what had frightened the girl. A spider, maybe.

_Not a spider._

Nikki closed her right fist, fast. Her heart was pounding. And her palm was, quite literally, burning. _So that's what was flickering._

"Stephanie?" Ms Lupan said. "What is it?"

The red-haired girl stared at Nikki for several seconds before whispering, "Nothing. I'm sorry. I thought I saw a bug. It's nothing, I'm sorry."

Ms Lupan spent a moment deciding what to think. Fortunately, the bell chose that moment to ring. She sighed and dismissed the class.

Nikki grabbed her things and left the room, fast, all the while making sure her right hand stayed firmly curled in a fist. As she reached her locker, she heard Stephanie call out to her. Quickly dumping her things either in her bag or in the locker, Nikki prayed that Stephanie wouldn't reach her. She closed the locker door, and came face-to-face with the girl.

"What was that?" Stephanie demanded.

"No idea what you're talking about," Nikki lied, turning to go.

Stephanie grabbed her arm. "You had a - a match, or someth-"

"Stephanie, you imagined it. Search me if you want. No matches. No lighters. Promise."

Nikki waited for Stephanie to make up her mind. "If I see it again, I'll report you," she declared. She gave Nikki a last, reproachful look before turning around and leaving. Nikki sighed in relief as she hurried off the school campus, looking for somewhere she could examine this phenomena alone.

She came to a park a couple of blocks from the school. Sitting on the swing, she dropped her bag in the dirt at her feet. Slowly, she uncurled her fist.

A tiny flame sat in her palm.

Nikki held it up to get a better look. It was no bigger than the flame on the end of a lit match. The skin around it wasn't even red. But it hurt. A little. It was better now that the fire wasn't closed up in her hand. Sitting in the middle of her palm, it was a small sting.

Nikki was in awe. She couldn't believe what she was seeing. How was her hand on fire? How had it happened?

_It's not happening! This doesn't happen! It's just parapsychology! Behaviour that is beyond what is possible! You're going mad, Saina. Your hand is not on fire._

No matter what she told herself, though, the small flame didn't go away. It didn't vanish when she closed her eyes and reopened them. Her inability to comprehend the situation annoyed her. Irritated her. Frustrated her. Angered her. She hated not knowing things. She _was_ half-Ekat, after all.

As she watched, the fire in Nikki's hand grew in size. Now it consumed her whole palm. Nikki frowned in confusion. Her anger dissipated.

The flame shrank.

It took a moment for the connection to form. Then she smiled.

Nikki closed her eyes. She remembered the frustration, the _anger_, of having to listen to that idiot of a Math teacher, Ms Lupan. Having to correct every second problem for her.

Opening her eyes, she watched the flame grow again. Then she let the anger fade. The flame shrank.

_The more angry I am, the bigger the flame gets. But can I get rid of it?_

Nikki closed her eyes and emptied her mind. Considered every thought, then let each one go. It was a technique her mother had taught her. Her hand stung for several seconds, then returned to a regular temperature.

When she opened her eyes, her little flame was gone. But something had taken its place. She'd been burned after all.

Nikki watched, fascinated, as the burn turned pink. The shape it took wasn't a circle, as the base of the flame had been. It was an elaborate _C_ in a crest.

The sign of the Cahill family.

The ten-year-old girl stared up at the San Francisco sky. She'd been born in Vancouver, Canada, but had moved to California when she was a kid. Here, in the United States, the heart of Cahill operations, the family had become a bigger part of her life. She wasn't very old, but she was old enough to know when the Cahills were in trouble. She knew the signs. And abnormal occurrences were the most common of them. Cahills disappearing. Or random attacks on agents. Or important documents going missing. Or the burning of the Cahill crest into the skin of a ten-year-old.

_Something's going down, _Nikki realised. _Something huge._


	4. Chapter Three

**Hi, all! Sorry for the wait - school's pretty busy at the moment, with exams and stuff coming up, so I haven't had much free time. But here I am, bringing a new chapter with me. Still with the OCs, but canon characters are coming, I promise! You only have until the next chapter to wait. In the meantime, enjoy!**

**Chapter Three**

"Giddyup, Woodrow!" hollered Carson Zelda. His trusty steed galloped faster through the tall grass, and Carson let out a whoop. He had loved riding for as long as he could remember. The euphoria only lasted a few moments, though. He preferred a slower pace. Pulling up on the reins, Carson adjusted his position in the saddle to accommodate for the sudden change in speed. Woodrow trotted across the field behind the ranch, towards the trees fifty metres ahead.

They'd just reached the cover of the foliage when the back of Carson's neck began to burn.

He urged his horse to go faster, knowing he couldn't be anywhere near the ranch - anywhere near his family - when the transformation occurred. He still couldn't control himself in the other form.

They were a hundred metres into the woods when Carson pulled Woodrow to a halt and slid to the ground. He made sure he tied Woodrow's reins to a tree before stumbling ahead into the forest. He dropped to his knees as his back began to spasm and his hands began to shake.

It had begun.

Carson watched as his arms and legs grew scales of electric blue and deep scarlet, as his fingernails and toenails became claws of at least ten centimetres, as his eight-year-old muscles bulged so large that his shirt and pants tore away. His spine rippled as he grew, leaving his four-feet-five body behind as he rose to at least seven feet tall. His tailbone, formerly of no use to him whatsoever, increased in size as he developed a flickering, spiked tail. The burning in his neck increased ten-fold as it split into two, then three. All three necks grew thicker and longer, scaling over as the rest of his body had. The central neck, originally Carson's human one, didn't need to grow a new head. Instead, Carson's grew much, much larger. As this happened, a new head blossomed from each of the other two necks. All three were scaled and ugly. The middle one let out a roar.

The transformation was complete.

Carson was a dragon.

Carson was still getting used to controlling his second body. It was extremely large - almost twice his normal height, and certainly a lot fatter. His movements were clumsy. Every turn resulted in the collision of his tail with a tree.

And then there were the heads. He had no real control over the movements of the extra two. As he reared up, all three heads broke through the tree line, and he had a glimpse of the ranch, tiny in the distance.

His home looked quite different when viewed through three pairs of eyes at once.

Not for the first time, Carson wondered how and why he could do this. Kids transforming into fantastical creatures was something that happened in books and movies and video games, not in real life. Even at eight years old, Carson wasn't deluded by fantasy. But this wasn't one of his Zelda Wii games. This was real.

Carson dropped back to the ground and looked around. He spotted Woodrow where he'd left him. The horse looked frightened by the roar Carson had unleashed earlier. He was stamping the ground, turning in circles and whinnying.

The eight-year-old wondered how long he would be stuck as a dragon. Sometimes, he reverted back to human form in minutes. Other times, he was stuck in the woods for several hours. He didn't know how to control it, but his mother had assured him he'd probably learn.

_The Cahills are onto it, _she'd said. Carson knew of Amy Cahill. He knew that she had fought wars that had changed her life for good. He knew that she was in charge of all the other Cahills, and people usually did what she said. But how could she help him?

Carson felt the ripples in his spine that meant he was about to transform again. He braced himself. Slowly, the two extra heads retracted into his shoulders and were gone. The tail withdrew into nothing. He shrank several feet, and his fingers, toes and nails shortened several inches. He shed his scales. Then all was still. He was human again.

He jogged back through the trees, found Woodrow and rummaged in the bag strapped to the saddle. He pulled out a flannel shirt, jeans and shoes. Dressing quickly, Carson soothed his horse before mounting it and setting off for the ranch.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one. Apparently, there were other kids out there with powers to rival scientific law. And apparently, they'd developed them for a reason.

Something dangerous was coming. Carson couldn't help but wonder, _What is it? And ... why me?_


	5. Chapter Four

**A/N: Hello there! If you're reading this, it means you're amazing, because I haven't updated this fic in forever. I genuinely hope there's one person out there somewhere who was ****wondering what happened to this fic, and is glad it's (kind of) back - hey, it's probably you! **

**School and life got in the way of my fan fiction writing, but I found this just now, and realised I have three chapters already written that haven't been released. So here's one. If someone sees it, I'll put the other two up. I don't know if I'll ever finish this fic, but I figure I should put up the rest of what I have. **

**Canon characters enter the stage in this chap! Time to see what the big boss thinks of all these supernatural happenings ... And to see some of my all-time OTP.**

**_Even if you don't like one half of it, the ship is cute. If you dare to disagree, I will fight you. I'm just kidding. I couldn't fight one of my readers. But srsly, don't bash my ship pls tyvm. 3_**

**Enjoy! And thank you for reading! ****xx -Sam**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Jake Rosenbloom yawned wearily as he pulled into the garage. It had been a long day - in addition to his regular seven history and language lectures, he'd had to fill in for two of Professor Winslet's philosophy classes. He was exhausted.

The garage door closed automatically behind him as he killed the car's engine and got out. He walked around the car, opened the passenger door, reached in and pulled out his backpack, his satchel and the bunch of daffodils he'd bought for his wife on the way home. Locking the car, he headed through the door that led into the mansion.

He found his family in the kitchen.

His wife had her back to him, as she was plating up his dinner. The smell of the flowers caused her to turn. Her face broke into a smile as she saw him.

Amy Cahill was very similar, and yet very different, to the teenager she used to be. Her long hair was redder than it used to be. She was still stunningly attractive, but in a more grown-up way. Her eyes, however, had not changed at all. Nor had her confident posture. Ten years had been nothing but kind to the leader of the world's most powerful family.

Jake crossed the room to her, leaned down and gave her a gentle kiss. "Hey, beautiful."

"Hey, handsome," she replied, still smiling. Her eyes travelled to the flowers. "Daffodils?"

He shrugged. "Why not?"

She laughed and took the bouquet from him, setting them on the bench. "I'll fix them up in a minute," she said. "Eat, before it goes cold."

He took the plate from her and set it on the table, taking a moment to turn his attention to the third member of the family.

Madeleine Grace Cahill was a year and a half old, with Jake's messy, brown hair and Amy's green eyes. She had a pretty face, even at less than two years old, and an infectious laugh. She was reaching out with a small hand towards her father. "Daddy's home!" she cried.

Jake grinned, bent over and kissed her forehead. "Hey, Princess," he said, tickling her cheek. She giggled. He sat down, dropping his bags onto an empty chair, pulled the plate of lamb and potatoes towards him and started to eat. For a couple of minutes, he just watched Amy trim the stems of the flowers and arrange them in a vase. When she was done, she set it on the table and said, "They're pretty." She kissed his cheek. "Thanks."

Jake swallowed a mouthful of meat. "How was work?"

Amy worked as an archaeological researcher. She'd taken a total of four months of maternity leave - two before the birth, and two after - before returning to work part-time. It wasn't that they needed the money - the Madrigals had seen to that. Amy just loved her job.

Amy shrugged. "We're thinking of starting a project near Boston."

"Yeah?" Jake knew that she'd been dying to get some field work. The only problem had been that every dig was too far away. "That's good."

"Yeah." Her tone surprised Jake. He wasn't sure if he'd imagined it, but he thought she sounded preoccupied. "I got a couple of calls at work," she continued. "Ms Shaw thinks we should start looking at getting Maddy into one of those accelerated tuition things. You know, when they start smart kids with school work when they're still in diapers. Like your brother."

Ms Shaw was the lady in charge of Maddy's day-care.

"Hey, maybe she takes after him," Jake mused. "Speaking of him, Att wants to see her again. How about it, Maddy?" he asked his daughter. "Do you want to see Uncle Att?"

"Yeah!" Maddy cried happily. "Uncle Atty!"

Amy smiled as she lifted Maddy out of her high chair. "Tell him to come round next week," she told Jake, before settling Maddy on her hip and saying, "Come on, sweetie, bath-time."

Maddy instantly forgot about her uncle. "Bubbles!"

"Wash up for me, will you?" Amy called over her shoulder as she left the kitchen.

Jake had finished eating by then. He collected his own plate, Maddy's bowl and the pots, rinsed them off and put them in the dishwasher. As the cycle started, he caught sight of something on the counter. It was a notebook, spiral-bound, with a black leather cover. He recognised it as Amy's. It was open to a page of messy handwriting, and Jake recognised the hurried scrawl Amy used when she wasn't concentrating on the page. He bent over it and read the notes.

They made no sense to him at all. She'd used some sort of personal shorthand that he couldn't decipher. A few words were legible: _Fire ... Dragon ... Voices ... Weapons ... Crest … _And names, some that he knew and some that he didn't: _Summers ... Zelda ... Saina ... Cahill. _Nothing between the legible words made any sense to him.

But what did it mean? And why hadn't he heard about it earlier? It was very unlike Amy to keep something secret from him. So why had she?

Jake remembered what she'd said earlier. _I got a couple of calls at work. _Had one of them been related to this? Was that why she was so distracted?

He suddenly realised that he hadn't put two plates in the dishwasher. He'd only put in one. Which meant she hadn't eaten. And she only ever missed meals when she was extremely overwhelmed.

_What's going on?_

"Jake?"

He turned. He'd been standing there for longer than he'd thought - Amy was leaning against the doorframe, watching him. She studied his face for a moment. "Everything okay?"

"Funny," Jake said. "I was just about to ask you the same question."

She caught on to the testiness in his voice. "What?"

In answer, Jake stepped to the side.

Amy's eyes locked on the notebook. She stared at it for a moment, then sighed. "How much -"

"Not enough to understand why there's something you're not telling me," he broke in. "Something about weapons, fire, voices, crests and a dragon, with a bunch of names. Including the big one." He grabbed the book and held it up. "What is so damn important that you've got a _notebook_ of information on it, and yet I don't even know about it?"

"Hey." Her voice was sharp. "Take it easy. It's a whole lot more complicated than you think."

"What the hell's going on?" Jake demanded.

"I don't know!" The words burst from Amy's mouth exasperatedly and angrily. She took a breath and spoke again, calmer. "I have _no idea_ what any of it means, okay? A bunch of calls from half a dozen different Cahill families, with claims that make no sense. About their kids. Too many to be a coincidence. And what they're claiming isn't exactly ... normal."

Jake took off his jacket, draped it over a chair and loosened his tie. He leaned back against the counter and breathed deeply. There was a sick sort of feeling in his gut.

"So," he said. "What's everyone claiming?"

Amy crossed the room, took the book from him and set it on the table, pulling up a chair as she began to flick back through the pages. "The first call was from Alissa Summers," she said. "Johanna's daughter. She called a couple of nights ago, pretty late. Said she's been hearing voices in her head for about a month now."

"Schizophrenic?" Jake suggested.

Amy shook her head. "Listen," she said. "The next one was from Brittany Saina -"

"Who?"

"One of the Ekat leaders. Her daughter, Nikki, came home from school the other day and showed her something odd. She had a little ball of fire. In her hand."

Jake stood in dumbstruck silence. Amy caught his eye and half-smiled. "It sounds nuts," she said, "until you hear the rest. Mica Zelda called me at work today. Her son, Carson …" she trailed off, searching the notes for a second, before continuing, "... randomly turns into a seven-plus-foot, blue-scaled dragon."

Jake remained where he was. He watched her carefully. "You. Are. Kidding."

"Three heads, apparently," she replied, almost absent-mindedly. She flicked the page. "There were three others, too, but they were about a week ago. Controlling water - freezing it, boiling it, moving it, with just a thought. Another kid kept disappearing, for hours at a time. Popped into sight at the dinner table one night, though, and they realised it was the ability to turn invisible - obviously uncontrollable. The last one kept chucking stuff at the teacher, just by wishing something would fly across the room. Telekinesis, I suppose."

"Hang on," Jake said. "Hang. _On._ These things you say these people are claiming aren't -"

"Possible," Amy finished. "Yeah. I know. But there's one thing all the stories have in common - one thing that we have proof of."

"Which is …?" Jake probed.

Amy picked up her cell phone, accessed her photos and opened the last one. She handed the phone to Jake. He took it without speaking and looked at the image.

It was the Cahill crest, burned into someone's skin.

Jake looked at Amy, open-mouthed.

"All of the kids have them," she said. "Palm, forearm, back of the shoulder - each child has one in a different place. But they're all the same."

"How … " Jake swallowed. "How old are these kids?"

"The oldest so far is fifteen," Amy said softly. "The youngest is eight."

Jake's eyes remained on Amy. She ran her fingers through her hair, eyes closed. He could see the cracks forming already. He walked over to her as she rose. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he pulled her close, holding her head to his chest and burying his face in her hair. He gently stroked her shoulder as she wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him.

"It's starting again," she said softly. "Ten years, and it's happening all over again."

"Dan had the right idea," Jake told her. "If you expected it to stop, you haven't been a Cahill long enough."

Amy managed a shaky laugh. Her brother hadn't taken off the way he'd planned to. He'd stuck around, and he hadn't been able to pass up the opportunities to be an annoying brother-in-law and an awesome uncle. But he'd made it very clear that Cahill business was no longer his business. Amy respected that. She hadn't had any reason to stay true to her promise to leave him out of things, because nothing had arisen since they had defeated J. Rutherford Pierce. But now she would have to.

Somehow, she was wishing she'd had the same choice as him.

"We'll be okay," Jake said quietly. "We'll figure this out."

"Even if it's crazy?" Amy said.

Jake grinned. "The Cahills have always been crazy," he reminded her. "But I'm still here, aren't I?"


End file.
